


The Shape Of Things To Come

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, At the start of Inquisition everything is scary, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Scarlet panics and Solas comforts her, and the Mark is a huge frightening mystery, and the responsabilities feel too heavy, while he slowly starts to realize something very important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: She shrugs and opens her palm again, bathing it in the moonlight. Solas shifts beside her and he reaches for her hand, for the Mark faintly shimmering on it. For a moment, his long, calloused fingers look like claws ready to snatch her hand away and the image of the wolf invites itself into her mind.But then she feels his touch and it’s gentle, warm, protective. He closes her hand, as if he can’t bear to see the Mark, and squeezes her fingers, letting out a slow, sad sigh.





	The Shape Of Things To Come

She isn’t used to being with people who aren’t her clanmates.

Not only her hand still hurts, the Breach still looms over their heads, and Thedas has fallen into chaos – now she has to travel with these strangers, trying not to get them and herself killed, while fixing this mess she has no idea how it started in the first place.

She misses her clan, her family. Everything is so loud and confusing, here, and even though none of the humans has been particularly racist towards her, she still felt many of their wary glances, caused both by her pointed ears and the green shimmer on her left hand, but also their awed looks full of reverence, caused by her new title.

Lady Josephine and Sister Leliana have been kind to her – the latter can be quite cold and distant sometimes, but Scarlet saw she is like that with everyone, so she was relieved to know it wasn’t because of her.

Commander Cullen scares her a bit – he is a tall human, always carrying his blade wherever he goes and barking orders at the few soldiers training in the courtyard of the chantry of Haven. She knows he isn’t a bad human, not like the guards her clan occasionally met in the past, but she still doesn’t know how to act around him.

Then there is Lady Cassandra. She apologized for her rage and her accuses, for the way they treated her, and Scarlet appreciated that. She also appreciates her honesty and the fact that she always speaks her mind, but her brash manners and glaring eyes prompt her natural shyness to come out and she has no idea why she has to be the one to lead the group when Cassandra is clearly more experienced than her at that.

Varric Tethras makes her feel at ease, instead. He doesn’t see her as the Herald of Andraste like the majority of people here do and his ways are practical and funny. He already gave her a nickname – something he always gives to his friends, he said, so that’s a positive thing – and so now he often calls her Shy, a reminder of her timid smile and his easy-going personality.

Despite everything, though, Cassandra still frightens her a lot and Scarlet doesn’t always understand Varric’s ways. The south is a new land, full of mysteries, people, and rules that she only heard or read about while wandering in the Free Marches with her clan.

Also, there is the matter of the Breach and this tentative, odd organization called ‘Inquisition’ that she has become part of. She is sure her poor parents can’t sleep at night because of the worry and the letter she received from her clan was written by her Keeper, but it clearly contained all her family and friends’ concerns, hidden not so subtly between the lines.

She can’t sleep, that’s for sure. Almost every night, she thrashes in her bed or her bedroll, staring at the green scar on her hand or crying herself to sleep because she misses her family and is terrified by this crushing responsibility that has been forcefully put on her shoulders.

Even now, as they move through the Hinterlands to find and close Rifts and help the people affected by the Breach, anxiety is gnawing at her heart and she speaks little, preferring to observe her companions and learn more about them that way rather than engage them in direct conversation.

It's late, the moon has replaced the sun in the sky, and the air has gotten cold, so much it bites Scarlet’s cheeks, making them turn red, and her breath comes out in small white puffs.

She had no idea Ferelden could be _so_ cold and her light jacket, perfect for a dual-wielding rogue like she is, is absolutely _not perfect_ for this icy weather.

Also, she has been closing Rifts all day and the fights with the demons, furious Templars, and terrified mages didn’t help; her left hand burns and itches and her head throbs painfully.

The others aren’t feeling much better: Cassandra is crankier than usual, Varric isn’t talking much, and there is a small frown on Solas’ brow.

Oh, Solas! He is kind, even if a bit aloof, and his stories fascinate her. At first, she was a bit offended by the way he talked about the Dalish, but she soon realized he had good reasons to do that; it seems the Dalish he met didn’t treat him fairly, so she apologized on their behalf and now a civil friendship is blossoming between them.

She gets even more timid around him. He is a fellow elf, so she should feel comfortable, but his eyes, his smile, his voice, and his educated mannerisms confuse her senses and she retreats into her shell even more, biting her lips, praying that her cheeks aren’t too red.

She never felt like this before. The young hunters in her clan never affected her like this and she was always able to act normally around them, treating them like friends just like she did with her female friends.

It’s different with Solas. She babbles like a child, blushes way too much, or when she manages to talk normally to him, she can’t stop fidgeting or staring at him.

She looks forward to his smiles and chuckles. Her heart always skips a beat every time he laughs or tells her something kind. There is an odd sadness in his eyes, a deep-rooted melancholy that grabs him without warning, and she wonders if he misses his old home, too.

“We should set camp for the night.” Cassandra announces, glaring at the dark sky as if it’s the stars’ fault they have to stop. “This place looks good enough.”

“Should we signal for that other camp to send some agents?” Varric asks, hiding a tired yawn behind a hand.

“No.” Cassandra makes a face, dropping her sword and shield on the ground. “Better not make too many official camps so near each other. This one will be temporary.”

Her eyes widen and she turns to Scarlet, who just placed her bags and pouches on the hard soil to relieve her poor back.

“If you agree, Lavellan. You have the Mark, after all.”

That somehow makes her the leader, she remembers with a pang of panic. She believes that Cassandra is right and she tells her so, complimenting her idea, so similar to the Dalish way of life.

“I agree, it’s more cautious this way. That’s how we Dalish move, after all.”

She smiles at the Seeker, who seems to appreciate what she said, then she helps Varric and Solas raise the tents, which have been kept dry and clean inside Solas’ huge backpack.

They also build a fire, using dry sticks and Solas’ magic, and place comfortable flat stones around it to sit near the flame and fight this horrible cold.

There is silence around them, or at least Scarlet considers it so; no children running around and laughing, no elders calling out for them, no young maidens humming elven lullabies under their breaths, no fellow hunters returning from the hunt.

Only the whistling of wind, the crackling of the fire, and the distant howling of wolves, which puts Varric on edge and Cassandra doesn’t seem to like one bit.

Scarlet is not a child, but this – all of this, combined together – is more than she could imagine when she left her clan to reach the Conclave. That journey was long and hard, but it was still easier than this, than the Mark on her hand and the expectant gazes of everyone on her.

With the tents and fire ready, everyone sits down to enjoy the warmth and get busy before going to sleep: Cassandra, as practical as ever, unsheathes her sword and starts polishing it, glaring at the small dents on the blade with a critical eye; Varric writes something down on a small, wrinkled journal, using the tip of his tongue to wet the charcoal pencil he’s using and earning himself some disgusted noises from the Seeker.

Solas takes out a book, as old and ruined as Varric’s journal, and starts reading it, speaking little, not participating much in the conversation that the dwarf tries to start to make the dinner livelier.

It’s not like their meal is that good, after all, so they must distract themselves somehow; Scarlet was able to catch some rabbits before setting camp and, after skinning them swiftly and accurately, she put them to roast above the fire.

Even for her Dalish standards, it’s not much. They are four people, all needing nutritious food, especially after such a hard and long day, and two skinny rabbits aren’t going to do much. She feels responsible, just like she felt responsible whenever her hunts in the clan weren’t successful enough, but she remembers the words Keeper Deshanna would repeat on such occasions: it was not her fault, but the Creators’ will. If there was no game in the woods, there was little a hunter could do.

She knows the same counts here and now. All the food they could have found here was probably chased away or caught by the Templars and rebel mages, leaving nothing for the poor refugees and weary travelers such as they are.

Scarlet sighs, ready to eat less if necessary. She is used to doing that, anyway, just like her clanmates were. If the hunts were unsuccessful, then the little food they had was given to the children and elders, while the rest chewed on old bread or filled their bellies with berries and water.

Water! That’s what they are missing. She can’t believe they didn’t gather some - it’s one of the most important parts of the meal, her mother always taught her so. Good to make bellies feel full, clean the throat and stomach, wash hands before and after touching the food.

She saw a clean pond nearby, she is sure of it. Maybe a stream too, but that’s too far away and she knows Cassandra won’t let her go alone. She doesn’t mind the company, but her nostalgia and longing for home are so painful and big, right now, that she really wants to stay alone for a little while to sort her thoughts and feel better.

“Umh…” she starts, fidgeting, interrupting Varric and Cassandra’s heated discussion about main characters and companions. Even Solas raises his eyes from the book and listens to her attentively, while the others turn to her and go silent.

“Yes?” Cassandra asks when Scarlet hesitates, not quite knowing how to ask the question. The woman’s expression is serious, but gentle and when Scarlet looks at Varric, who is smiling, and at Solas, who is still waiting patiently with a kind light in his eyes, she hums again and says:

“We need water. Does anyone have… something to carry it?”

Cassandra looks embarrassed for a moment, probably because she realized she forgot about something so important and brought nothing to help with; she rummages into her pouches, but they are way too small to contain something useful, so she huffs and shakes her head.

Then she glares at Varric, as if it’s all his fault, and the poor dwarf makes an offended noise, flailing his hands around.

“Why are you looking at me like that?!”

“You should have packed something more useful than a journal!”

“It doesn’t take that much space in my bag. Also, I need it to jot down ideas for my new chapters.”

Scarlet could swear she saw a flash of curiosity and hope in Cassandra’s eyes, but it lasts one second and the Seeker promptly goes back to glaring at Varric, who sighs, rolls his eyes, and moves on his rock so that she can only see his back.

Scarlet giggles at the scene, making Varric grin at her from above his shoulder and Cassandra’s murderous look soften considerably. Then Solas speaks and she jumps, turning to him with wide, golden eyes.

He’s handing her something with a smile.

“Here. It is not much big, but it’s better than nothing.”

He’s offering her his wooden mug, the cute one she saw hanging from his backpack. It may not hold all the water they need, but it’s definitely good enough and it will be more than useful tonight.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” she exclaims, standing up and taking it with reverent hands. “Thank you, Solas. I’ll go fill it immediately.”

He smiles at her and she smiles back, blushing hard, then he asks, closing his book, but keeping a finger between the pages to mark where he stopped reading:

“You are going to that pond nearby, yes? Do you want me to accompany you?”

Her blush deepens. She would like to spend more time with him, but she fears she will act like a silly child again, especially now that she is feeling so frail and homesick. He mistakes her red cheeks and wide eyes for another kind of embarrassment, though, and he blushes as well.

“Oh, of course. Forgive me.”

She panics. Does he believe she needs to stay alone to…?

“Oh!” She gasps, combusting on the spot. “No, it’s not that, I…” She inwardly groans, not knowing how to clear out that misunderstanding without dying.

“I… I’ll just go.” she mumbles lamely, leaving the camp at the speed of light, holding tightly the wooden mug in her hands.

She rushes to the pond, trying to ignore Varric’s comment – which fortunately she doesn’t hear – and Cassandra’s hissed response directed at Solas. They are probably berating him for his lack of manners, a rare event, since he is always so polite.

She reaches the clear surface of the water, surrounded by short grass and frail, pale flowers that will soon be killed by the cold wind or even the incoming snow. She kneels on the hard ground, cheeks burning but not because of the crisp, freezing wind, and fills the mug with water, careful not to drop it into the pond.

She catches her reflection on the flat, crystalline surface, helped by the bright light of the moon; she is paler than usual, with dark, tired circles under her eyes, which look sad and scared. She doesn’t look like the expert, confident lead hunter of clan Lavellan, but like a frightened, lonely child instead.

She raises her left hand to observe it under the moonlight; the odd scar is still there and she can catch a faint, green shimmer pulsing just beneath her skin, like a second heartbeat. It doesn’t hurt her, but it’s the constant reminder of what happened, of what she has to do, of what all Thedas expects from her.

Tears prickle her eyes and when she remembers her awkward misunderstanding with Solas, shame and embarrassment fill her heart again and she chokes on a sob, her lips and hands trembling.

That’s when she almost drops the mug into the water: she manages to catch it in time before it drowns into the depths, but the scare is enough to make her feel worse and soon the tears don’t want to stop. She sobs and hiccups near the edge of the pond, soiling her armor and cradling the full, heavy mug against her chest.

She misses her clan. She misses her father’s deceptively serious face and his tight hugs, her mother’s cheerfulness and smile, her friends’ jokes and laughter, Keeper Deshanna’s voice and advices.

She knows the people of the Inquisition can be her friends too, that they _will_ be her friends soon, but the only home she ever knew is so far, now, and probably threatened by the Rifts that put in danger nearly every country of Thedas.

Will she lose her family? Will she receive news of their doom someday, together with the painful and cruel realization of not being there with and for them? Are they finding enough food in the woods, are her parents, the children, and elders alright?

Crying because of homesickness and feeling foolish for being so childish, she remains there, rubbing her eyes and staring at the disk of white light reflected on the pond.

Then she hears a noise; someone is approaching, their movements betrayed by the rustling of leaves and the cracking of twigs. She knows she has been here for a while, now, and Cassandra probably got worried and decided to check on her.

Part of her hopes it’s Solas, that he’s the one who grew worried and decided to see if she’s alright.

She knows she should stop fantasizing so much about this, that she should force her heart and head to stop dreaming and imagining things, but she never felt like this before and she wants to gauge Solas’ interest, to see if something special could really grow between them.

It’s not because she feels lonely and scared; Solas is an elf, yes, but he is a very odd one, not Dalish nor city-born, and he can relate to only some of her experiences and she only to a few of his.

He doesn’t know what it feels like to live and grow in a clan and she has no idea what it feels like to wander both the waking world and the Fade alone, studying memories and befriending spirits in the Beyond while avoiding people in the mortal world.

She knows, though, that if he was any different – if he was less kind, less brilliant, less bald and younger, she wouldn’t probably feel like this. Even if he was another kind of elf, perhaps even a Dalish elf, capable of making her feel less alone through their shared experiences, she wouldn’t like him like she likes him now.

And so she feels reassured about her shy, blooming feelings for him; she knows they aren’t born out of her loneliness and fear and so they feel more real, more valid, more serious. She realizes that what is happening in her heart is something that will change her world just as much as the Mark and the Breach did, a pivotal change that may lead to a pivotal event that she has been dreaming about since she was a child.

The noise she heard before fills the quiet night again and she jumps a little, before focusing on the world around her. Her senses, honed after a life of hunting, find the source of the noise or at least its position; on her left, behind the taller grass and bushes that grow there, shielding that side of the pond.

It’s not the direction of the camp, which lies behind her. An animal, perhaps?

She bites her lips, regretting her choice to leave her daggers and small knives near the fire. If it really is another rabbit or a fennec, it could be another solid addition to their already meager dinner.

If she is fast enough, she could catch it and kill it painlessly at the camp, but she needs to focus and strike at the perfect moment. She knows what to do, so she moves to quietly place the full mug down on the ground and prepare to attack.

Her fingers tighten around the mug as she slowly lowers it towards the hard soil. Then she hears the noise again, louder this time, and the tall grass moves, revealing to her the animal who is making all those sounds.

She gasps and freezes, staring into the wolf’s bright eyes.

The wolf stares back at her, attentive and quiet. His fur is dark, almost pitch black, and his large form looms over the pond, obscuring the light of the moon on it. One of his ears twitches and she sees him sniff the air, never breaking eye contact.

He looks absolutely normal, not twisted by the presence of the Rifts and weakened Veil. Perhaps he was lucky enough to avoid them or he’s stronger than the wolves they have met until now.

Her tears come back, caused by the sudden apparition that scared her, but it’s not like they really went away before. They were always there, on the edge of her eyes, as she prepared to catch what she thought was an innocuous little animal.

She knows how to deal with wolves. They are beautiful, clever animals that every Dalish clan learns to respect, not only because they are innocent lives who belong to the world as much as elves do, but also because they belong to Fen’Harel too and he sends nightmares and horrible visions to anyone who dares hurt or bother his kin without a good reason.

But apart from religious lessons, she has always been taught the natural rules wolves follow; that this beautiful animal is willing to continue their eye contact is a good sign, for example, and she knows she must not move quickly nor abruptly turn around and show him her back.

If she’s lucky, the wolf will eventually see her as a simple guest of this place and drink some water before going back to his pack. She already recognizes the signs, she can almost see him think that, and so she relaxes, but that causes her to cry harder and louder.

The wolf keeps staring at her and Scarlet rubs her eyes again, sobbing and choking on her tears. She wonders if the wolf’s pack is alright, too, and she envies him a bit, because if that’s the case, then he will surely return to his family, to a loyal mate, their warm den of cubs, and a series of strong bonds with the rest of the pack.

Just like her clan was – _is_. They are not dead and they won’t ever be, not as long as she draws breath, she swears it.

She raises her head and looks at the wolf again, swallowing a heavy lump of tears. He hasn’t moved a muscle, he only blinks and lets his ears and nose twitch. His eyes are golden, like hers, but for a moment she is sure they look red.

Then she hears the voice and her breath hitches in her throat.

_“Why are you crying, daughter of Lavellan?”_

It takes her a moment to realize it’s actually coming from behind her and so she turns: she sees Solas standing a few meters away, his eyes worried and attentive. He’s carrying his staff, which casts a warm, soft glow that reaches her like a hug.

Her head snaps back to where the wolf is, but he’s gone, maybe scared by Solas’ presence or light.

She stares at the spot he was occupying, while Solas sits down at her side. The warmth increases and envelops her chilled body and she sighs, relieved, as she turns to him and tries to smile.

“You have been away for quite some time, now.” he says, eyeing her with concern, studying her face. She blushes and looks away, suddenly self-conscious about her appearance.

“I’m sorry.” she says softly, cradling the full mug in her hands again. “I… I started thinking about things and…”

“Why are you crying?” he asks again and her lower lip trembles as she pushes back her final tears.

“I miss home.” she answers sincerely in the end, wondering again if he misses his, too.

 He makes a soft sound of understanding and she thinks that, yes, he must miss it as well.

“I’m sorry.” she repeats, drying her eyes. “I should be stronger than this.”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head and she turns to look at him. His eyes and smile are sad as he watches the wind create ripples on the surface of the water.

“No, my friend. It is alright not to be strong, especially at times like these.”

“But I have the Mark. Everyone calls me the Herald of Andraste. People expect so much from me and I…” She sighs and looks at the green scar on her hand. “I want to help everyone. I want to close the Breach and save Thedas, but I’m not sure I can.”

“You don’t have to be strong to endure.” Solas smiles at her, his eyes crinkling, the wrinkles around his mouth deepening. “Sometimes, enduring despite not being strong is what actually helps you become stronger in the first place.”

It’s Scarlet’s turn to make a soft sound, now, and she touches the Mark with the tip of her index finger, pretty sure it’s really pulsing beneath her skin. Even the form is odd, like a straight, precise wound with too even edges, as if whatever did this to her seared her very flesh and poured a portion of the Fade, green and bright, into her hand.

She feels Solas’ intense gaze on her and she blushes again, turning to him with a sheepish smile.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, his voice serious and soft, and she shakes her head.

“No, not anymore.” She hesitates, then: “You know, sometimes, when I stare at it at night, I think it looks almost beautiful. It’s like I can almost see the Fade in it and I suddenly feel better, but it doesn’t last long and then…”

She shrugs and opens her palm again, bathing it in the moonlight. Solas shifts beside her and he reaches for her hand, for the Mark faintly shimmering on it. For a moment, his long, calloused fingers look like claws ready to snatch her hand away and the image of the wolf invites itself into her mind.

But then she feels his touch and it’s gentle, warm, protective. He closes her hand, as if he can’t bear to see the Mark, and squeezes her fingers, letting out a slow, sad sigh.

She blushes at the contact and feels disappointed when he slowly removes his hand. She doesn’t reopen hers, though, because the lines on his face are deeper and concern and what looks awfully like regret shine in his blue eyes.

She realizes he is worried about her wellbeing, but he also feels responsible for something. Does he think he didn’t do enough to help her while she slept?

“And what do you see in it?”

He sounds curious, but also resigned, as if he already knows her answer, but wants to hear it from her all the same. Scarlet looks at her closed hand, thinks about it briefly, then chuckles softly.

That seems to surprise him. His eyes snap to her - she can feel them on her skin, burning her cheeks with the same intensity of her blush - and he waits.

“It’s silly.” she explains, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “But it’s almost like I can see the shape of things to come. A green, placid sky, but it’s not the Breach. And… and eyes, too many eyes staring at me, but they are not scary. I feel at peace, as if the Mark is telling me things are going to get better.”

She sighs, tossing a pebble into the pond. She watches the ripples expand and grow and tears threaten to fill her eyes again.

“Then it stops and I remember I _don’t_ remember how I got it and why. That we don’t even know what it is. And I’m scared again.”

She chuckles again, mirthlessly this time, and she timidly asks: “Magic cannot predict the future, right? I once read that some seers in Rivain apparently can do that, but nobody is sure about it.”

Solas shakes his head and she feels overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze: it’s like he’s digging into her very soul with his eyes, looking for something, and her face turns beetle red.

“Well, it would be nice if this magic could predict the future. That would mean things really are going to get better, sooner or later.” She chuckles nervously, letting her hair hide her face as she looks down at the mug in her hands.

A long silence fills the clearing and she timidly looks up at Solas, hoping she didn’t upset or offend him. He is still looking at her and he almost looks incredulous, as if he just realized something incredibly important or is on the verge of doing so.

He clears his throat when her big eyes meet his and he looks away. She isn’t sure, but it almost seems like he’s blushing, too.

“That would be nice, yes.” he agrees, finally smiling again. He slowly turns serious again, melancholy and surprise tinting his eyes with different, contrasting hues. “You are… a surprising person, daughter of Lavellan.”

Scarlet smiles, looking at the pond to avoid blushing too much, and replies softly: “Thank you.”

Solas clears his throat again and then says, his smile coming back in all its glory: “We should go back to the camp, now. The others are surely getting worried.”

“Oh, right!”

He helps her get up, but before she can say something, he adds softly, clasping her right arm:

“Don’t worry about your family. I’m sure they are alright and the Inquisition will be able to protect them, once it’s powerful enough to reach the Free Marches.”

She nods, happy to see that her fears are somewhat gone now, and he continues, taking her aback with his kindness and wisdom: “And do not doubt yourself. You may not feel strong now, but there are strength and kindness in every word you pronounce and thing you do.”

She looks at him, listening intently, and her eyes swell with tears again, this time happy and relieved, as he concludes, his smile kind and warm, his touch gentle and firm like an anchor:

“I, too, glimpsed the shape of things to come and I saw your greatness. Walk with pride, daughter of Lavellan.”

Scarlet beams at him, her heart lighter and full of light as though a little sun was ignited inside it.

“Thank you.” she says and Solas’ smile grows. He gently squeezes her right hand before nodding towards the camp. They head to it, carrying the precious water and the glowing staff, and wolves howl in the distance: they can predict - thanks to that natural magic that only animals possess - what is coming.

They dream an unveiled sky and the wolf they have been following since the dawn of time rising towards the sun, while a figure without an arm calms him with a reassuring touch.

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am with some pre-relationship Solavellan and angst ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> I KNOW, me writing pre-relationship stuff and angst is something out of this world, but I really wanted to explore Scarlet’s feelings and fears at the start of Inquisition, as well as Solas’ slow realization that these people are true people and he feels guilty af.


End file.
